


we all fall down

by starblessed



Category: The Princess Diaries - All Media Types
Genre: Broken Bones, F/M, Fluff, More Banter Than You Can Shake A Fat Cat At
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 05:45:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15599598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: “It is not my fault that I broke my leg,” Nicholas declares passionately, waving a finger in her face for emphasis. “It’s your cat’s fault.”“Don’t blame Fat Louie for your mistakes!”“Who else shall I blame?” he demands. “The stairs I tumbled down, or the floor that broke my fall?”✤ ✤ ✤Nicholas breaks his leg, and it becomes a national disaster. Mia gets her first lesson in crisis management.





	we all fall down

**Author's Note:**

> look, i... i have a deep, unrelenting love for this movie, alright?? i fell in love with it when i was six, and after over a decade of not seeing it, i watched it again a few weeks ago, and... well.
> 
> here we are.

There are considerably worse crises for the queen of a small nation to wake up to at four in the morning.

Here’s the thing about being queen: you've always got to be prepared for _something_ to go wrong. Mia’s been lucky. She hasn’t had to deal with a national catastrophe... yet. Her imagination can still take her to some pretty drastic places. One day, she’s going to wake up and find Genovia in full DEFCON 1 mode. The rivers could be overflowing; the pear orchards could be on fire; the entire country could run out of goat’s milk.

 _(That_ could easily be the greatest calamity in Genovia’s history.)

Compared to some of her nightmares, being jarred from sleep by the sound of screaming is… well, definitely not great, but it could be worse.

Things could always be worse.

Mia scrambles out of bed, tangling herself up in the blankets. She manages to tumble halfway to the ground before landing in a messy heap, spine bent at a merciless angle. Legs scramble to catch their footing, and somehow she manages it. Adrenaline propels her half-awake body towards the door. She throws it open; before she can charge out into the hall, Shades is already blocking her way.

“It’s alright, Your Majesty,” Shades informs her, unflappable as ever. “No need to be alarmed.”

This would be way more reassuring if _bloody murder_ wasn’t still echoing from the hall behind him.

“Okay, we need to work on your definition of _alright_ — because that sounds like the _opposite_ of alright!” Mia stands on her toes to see past him, wobbling in her silk kitten pajamas. “Is someone dying?”

“Not at all,” Shades declares… and waits an unnecessary few seconds before elaborating. “It’s Lord Devereaux, madam. He seems to have… fallen down the stairs.”

Mia blanches. _“All_ the stairs?”

“All of them.”

This entails a lot of stairs. Mia would know; she’s lost her footing on them a few times herself. Thankfully, each incident has left her bruised but otherwise unscathed. Nicholas does not sound like he got that lucky.

Suddenly, a vague memory from moments ago hits her: her boyfriend slipping out of bed with a placating murmur of, _“Just going to get a glass of water.”_   She flashes back to the empty space in bed behind her (which Shades tactfully ignores) and feels sick to her stomach.

“Oh my _god,”_   she declares, rushing past him.

Nicholas is discovered exactly where she assumes he’d be — crumpled at the bottom of the staircase, surrounded by a ring of very frantic servants. The screams are not all coming from him, thank god — one of the maids is the hysterical type — but he’s clutching his leg and groaning. This can mean nothing good.

Mia makes it to the first stair before drawing to a dead stop. Her wide eyes grow even wider; she can feel each pound of her frantic heart in her throat. Slowly, she looks down.

Stretched across the top of the stairs, Fat Louie blinks back up at her, unimpressed.

* * *

The culpability of the Royal Cat turns into a hot topic over the next few days.

“It is not my fault that I broke my leg,” Nicholas declares passionately, waving a finger in her face for emphasis. “It’s _your cat’s_ fault.”

“Don’t blame Fat Louie for your mistakes!”

“Who else shall I blame?” he demands. “The stairs I tumbled down, or the floor that broke my fall?”

Frustrated, Mia fluffs his pillow with a little more aggression than strictly required. Okay — yeah, she karate chops the pillow. Nicholas doesn’t flinch, but his eyes widen a fraction. There are very few places he can escape to while stretched out on the bed, his leg encased in a cast possibly bigger than Genovia itself. The vulnerability of his position seems to hit him all at once, because he offers no more arguments as Mia slots the pillow behind his back.

She’s putting all her effort into looking after him — and doing a fantastic job, by the way — but no one is allowed to insult Fat Louie’s honor. _No one._

“It was not my kitty’s fault,” she declares sweetly after a moment’s peace. “If _someone_ had watched where they were going, then someone wouldn’t have broken his leg in the first place.”

“If _someone_ didn’t give their cat free reign of the palace —“

“If _someone_ had the common sense to take a flashlight with them —“

“Because all _someone_ wanted was some water, and that someone preferred not to let the entire staff know he was sleeping in _someone else’s_ bedroom, because we both know how the maids gossip —“

“Someone should have been more careful!”

Nicholas is silent for a long moment, face set in a stubborn mask. When his expression abruptly softens, it seems like the sun has broken through a cloudy sky. The room grows warmer. Mia’s glare is left feeling very out of place.

“Oh,” he chuckles. “You were worried about me.”

Her mouth drops open. “Okay, no. No, I wasn’t.”

“You were.” A grin spreads across his face, like the cat who caught the cream — or like Fat Louie at dinnertime. “You still are.”

“Don’t _accuse_ me of —“

“Caring?” Nicholas’s gaze is soft. It leaves Mia feeling remarkably vulnerable — which is ridiculous, because Nicholas is the one with the broken leg. “Sorry, Your Highness. I think that national secret is already out.”

Mia crinkles her nose at him, biting back the urge to smile. She really can’t understand how Nicholas is able to do that -- tread on every one of her last nerves, while still making her feel like the most important woman in the world to him. Like her feelings are valid, like she’s doing something right… the sort of reassurances even queens need, sometimes.

“How are you feeling?” she asks instead, adjusting the blankets around his leg. It is a massive, clunky limb, dressed up in white, a few scribbled sharpie marks already brightening it up. (Mia spent fifteen minutes doodling hearts, and has gotten most of the maids to scrawl their names.) “Do you want to take anything for the pain?”

“Pain isn’t so bad,” Nicholas says. “As long as you’re here.”

Her expression softens. She runs a hand through his hair, fluffing it up, even though she knows how much he hates it. If Nicholas gets to be gross and sappy, she gets to touch the hair. It’s a fair trade.

Reluctantly, she has to break very contact with his. The Queen Of Genovia has a schedule, and the schedule waits for no man… or woman, or cat. “I can’t be here for much longer,” she sighs, tapping the face of his wristwatch. “There’s a parliament session at two.”

The pout that twists his face makes him look remarkably young, more like a little boy than a young man well on his way to establishing himself in Genovian politics. Any other day, Mia would roll her eyes at him; but since he’s injured, Nicholas has earned her sympathy. She places a hand on his shoulder, massaging gently into fine muscles. Her touch drains a little tension she hadn’t even realized Nicholas was holding in. He sighs, eyes drifting shut.

“No chance of you skipping it, I guess?” He looks up at her through lowered lids, a subtle puppy-dog face that is almost impossible to refuse. “Even for movie night?”

“We can have movie night when I get back,” she promises. “I’ll even let you pick.”

His face lights up; at once, the petulance of seconds ago melts away, and he looks thrilled. Mia can’t help laughing out loud. Stretching over his chest, she places a kiss on his cheek. Her hand still lingers on his shoulder. She’s careful to avoid the lower half of his body; knowing her legendary clumsiness, she might end up breaking his _other leg._

“Get some rest,” she urges. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be good.”

Every part of her wants to believe him… but she also knows Nicholas. Young Lord Devereaux can be on his best behavior when he wants to be, and play an absolute gentleman… but he can also be spoiled, stubborn, and ridiculous, when in the right mood. And when he’s bored? Forget about it.

With luck, the memory of her kiss will keep Nicholas placated for a few hours, at least. Otherwise, she might come back to a palace falling down on top of them all.

* * *

Keeping Nicholas entertained proves to be a far more difficult task than Mia anticipated. Countless movie marathons help. He catches up on the most popular Genovian soap operas. He’s also got the entire Genovian Royal Library at his beck and call, a privilege he takes advantage of to the extreme. Nicholas whiles away countless hours reading. When Mia leaves in the morning, she returns to a pile of finished books next to his bed by afternoon.

Mia also tries to spend every spare moment with him that she can. This isn’t much; her schedule is tighter than ever. Even getting a moment to breathe feels like a miracle. Still, whenever she can, she darts up to Nicholas’ bedroom; for a few minutes, even a handful of seconds. Just seeing him alright soothes her fraying nerves. She hopes her presence helps him a bit too. (Maybe this is doubtful. Mia is hardly a _soothing presence…_ but she tries.)

It’s clear when their invalid starts straining. Staying confined in bed just isn’t in Nicholas’s nature. Before long, inactivity gets harder to bear.

Nicholas is someone who’s _constantly moving_. He is a ball of coiled energy beneath a smoothly-glossed facade. His mind is sharp, necessitating some challenge to entertain it; his natural athlete’s body demands to always be in some kind of motion. Nothing about him is made to remain stationary, locked in one place for hours at end. It goes against his code. He can’t handle it.

A stubborn, restless Nicholas is a big headache for everyone else.

(Mia totally saw it coming.)

“We don’t mean to complain,” Brigitta broaches tentatively, just over a week into Nicholas’ recovery. Her hands wring in an undisguised display of nerves. Over her shoulder, Brigitte lingers, equally anxious. “It’s just… well, we’ve had plenty of people complaining to us, and even security seems a little put off --”

“Very put off,” Brigitta pipes up. “And the cooks are in a tizzy.”

“He keeps sending room service back, suggesting ways it could be done better.” Brigitte winces. “And the librarians are furious because he has so many books checked out at once… the maids have to run in and out of his room constantly… he makes them change the television channels for him, Your Majesty.”

“He got a few of the butlers to play poker with him,” adds Brigitta. “I don’t think they enjoyed themselves.”

“Because they lost,” says Brigitte.

“Lost their shoes,” says Brigitta. “Lord Devereaux won all their shoes, and they can’t win them back.”

“We don’t know where he put them.”

“And of course we wouldn’t bring this issue to you, because we hate to bother you, except… well, he’s started ordering _us_ around, too! And we’re Your Majesty’s _personal_ ladies’ maids!”

The wide eyes of the two maids in front of her emphasize what an affront this is. It’s clear that neither of them want to be here. Mia’s certain the duo haven’t brought a single complaint to her since they were hired. For them to be this up in arms over Nicholas, he really must be driving the staff wild.

She rests her head in his hands, scrunching her hair up in the process. (It’s probably an improvement — buns do her no favors.) “I know. I know, and I’m _sorry._ I just don’t know what else to do.”

Nicholas is required to be on bed rest for another week, at least; then he can start moving around on crutches (had he not absolutely refused a wheelchair, he could have been out of bed faster). One more week might be all it takes for the palace to fall to anarchy. At this rate, the entire staff might decide to flat-out murder him. There are plenty of hidden passages in an old castle which would be perfect for hiding bodies. (Mia knows from experience; during one of her first explorations, Joe had to rescue her from behind a revolving bookcase.)

Something has to be done, before Nicholas ends up Genovia’s Lord Darnley. But what?

After a tentative moment, Brigitte clears her throat. “Ms. Charlotte actually wanted to talk to you, Your Majesty. She said she might have an idea…”

Mia’s head springs up. Her eyes brighten with joy. Leave it to Charlotte to save the day; even with her new job in Parliament, she’s still the person who keeps Genovia (and the queen) from falling apart.

“I know it’s a longshot,” Charlotte declares, as soon as she steps into the queen’s office. “But it might be our only option.”

“Please,” says Mia. “Gimme whatever you’ve got.”

* * *

There are considerably worse things for a men with a broken leg to wake up to at four in the afternoon.

“Well. Hello, Your Majesty.” His head is still foggy from his nap, but the sight of Mia leaning over him is a very welcome one. “I hope I’m not still dreaming.”

“Huh. Here I thought you might be disappointed to see me.” She crooks an eyebrow, playing coy in the way that Nicholas has grown all-too familiar with. “Sounds like you’ve been enjoying yourself for a while.”

“How long has it been?”

“Two weeks. Almost.”

Nicholas’s head falls back, hitting the frame of the bed with a dull clunk. His confinement feels like centuries. So many hours of _doing nothing,_ staring at the television, listening to birds chirp outside his window… it’s far too much to bear. If he were more reckless, he’d have pulled himself out of bed already, determined to defy doctor’s orders and walk on his own. Stupidity almost seems tempting, if it would just let him feel _alive_ again.

Unfortunately, Nicholas is in no hurry to break his leg twice. If he has to suffer, then he’ll suffer; there’s nothing anyone can do about it. Even Mia, for all her brief visits and lingering kisses. Even _himself._

(That might be the part that bothers Nicholas the most. He’s been robbed of agency over his own body. He can’t walk, can’t leave the palace, can’t even do things for himself. The fact that he can make it to the bathroom on his own is a miracle. He’s positive that people must pity him... even _Mia,_ for all she tries to be gentle.)

Now, her hand smooths over his brow; and though Nicholas wants to be a bit more stubborn, he can’t help giving into her. (He never can.) When he tilts his head up, there’s a frown on his lips, but dull amusement in his eyes.

“I was beginning to wonder if time’s passing at all.” He huffs, upsetting the hair that neatly frames her face. “Maybe it’s all just an illusion. Maybe I never even broke my leg. Maybe… it’s a conspiracy.”

Mia crooks a brow. “Well, okay. You definitely have too much time on your hands.”

“No kidding.” He loops his arms around her waist, pulling her even closer. Suddenly he is desperate, _desperate,_ for her not to go. The quiet of the room is suffocating. He needs someone else to drown it out. Even the maids are welcome interruptions, if only for a minute; anybody he can coerce into playing cards with him, reading to him, just chatting with him. _Anything_ to keep him entertained for more than a few minutes at a time is a mercy.

The greatest mercy of all, however, is Mia.

She must know it. Every time she pops into his room, even if she can’t stay long, she always promises to return soon. Without fail, she always does. Nicholas has no clue how she manages, but he couldn’t be more grateful.

Now, just for a second, he allows himself to be vulnerable… because he needs her here. He needs her for more than a few stolen moments. Without Mia, he’s sure he’s going to go insane.

He presses his face into her neck. A deep inhale brings the scent of jasmine perfume and honeysuckle — so quintessentially _Mia_ that he wishes he could drown in it. “Please,” he murmurs. “Stay for a little while.” _Don’t leave me._

The answer is expected, but doesn’t sting any less. “I can’t.” Mia breathes the words into the crown of his head, warm breath heating warmer skin. “I’m so sorry.”

A moment of silence passes; then Nicholas sighs and draws away. “I know.”

He prepares himself for disappointment the moment she slips into the room. He is ready to see her go, and already anticipates the quiet that will follow once she leaves. Nicholas is getting good at this game… even if he’s the world’s most reluctant player.

Genuine disappointment shines on Mia’s face. He wishes he could reach up and brush it away, easy as he brushes away tears the rare times she allows herself to cry. It is not her fault. He knows that, and wants her to be certain of it. Lord knows she’s doing all she can, just keeping him looked after. He has no clue how she puts up with him.

He cups her cheek, and she smiles again. It feels like a victory. “However,” she declares, slowly beginning to straighten up, “I think I might have something even better.”

“Better than you? Never.”

“You —- _stop.”_   Her cheeks are a funny shade of red. Nicholas smirks. Eager to regain her composure, she throws a flourishing gesture towards the doorway. “What’s better than a little _hombre y hombre?”_

Nicholas blinks. In the doorway, somehow gone completely unnoticed until now (he’s got the uncanny ability to do that) looms the imperturbable shadow of Joseph.

“Oh.” His voice comes out a little strangled. “Hello there.”

“Nicholas.” Joe takes a step into the room, bowing his head. “Always a pleasure.”

He does not sound like he means it.

Nicholas turns wide eyes on Mia. She looks absurdly pleased with herself, grinning like a child who’s figured out the mysteries of her mother’s makeup drawer for the first time. She steps back, arms crossed over her chest. What she’s waiting for is obvious.

“Mia,” Nicholas says, deliberate and careful. “Thrilled as I am that you invited Joseph all the way here, I really can’t see what your intention is.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” The way Mia blinks at him, it very well might be. Maybe Nicholas’s intuition is going, along with everything else. After a few seconds she huffs, planting her hands on her hips and seizing control of the situation just as she would any Parliament meeting.

“Joe’s here to keep you company. This way you’re not bored, you don’t have to be alone, and the staff isn’t one complaint away from mutiny. Problem solved for everyone!”

“Except,” Nicholas begins. A sharp glare from Mia leaves him uncertain whether he had anything to argue in the first place.

Of all the people he’d like to spend every waking moment of bedrest with… Joe is the last person on the list. Nicholas isn’t afraid of anyone; but intimidation is a whole other deal, and Joe is a very intimidating man. That’s when he’s _not trying._

“I’ve recovered from a knee replacement,” Joe offers simply, as if this explains the logic behind the entire zany set-up. “I know something about getting back on your feet.”

Nicholas casts a desperate glance at Mia. “But the doctor said —“

“We’re not going against the doctor’s orders… just stretching them a little.” Mia grins, all brilliant white teeth and self-satisfaction. “Now you don’t have to worry about being bored anymore! This is great!”

Nicholas forces a smile, glances up at Joe, and tries to feel the same way.

Joe blinks back at him. All traces of a smile shrivel and die.

When Nicholas turns back to Mia, he is unquestionably desperate. Panic shines in his eyes. He grips the comforter like a lifeline.

“Is it too late for me to choose mutiny?”

* * *

There are no more complaints from the staff throughout the next five weeks of Lord Devereaux’s recovery.

By the time his leg is finally freed, Mia isn’t sure what Nicholas is more thrilled to be rid of: the cast, or Joe’s presence. As soon as he sees her, he almost throws himself at her. It’s definitely delight at being able to run again, not just joy to see her. She exclaims at him to be _careful, careful!_ all the same, catching her balance on the stair railing before they can both take another tumble. Before another protest can leave her lips, Nicholas captures them with his own. This is how they remain until their lungs start to burn, and they have to part just to look at beach other.

“You have no idea how great it feels to do that,” Nicholas declares into the mess he’s made of Mia’s hair. She huffs, patting him on the back.

“I guess this means Grandma gets her man back.” The considering hum in her voice is unmistakeable. “And we have to send Joe a fruit basket.”

“Plenty of pears,” Nicholas declares. “He can’t stand them.”

“Aww! You guys bonded _that_ much?”

“Absolutely. I never want to see the man again.”

She snorts into his shoulder. “Anything you say.”

For a moment, there is no sense letting go, or moving anywhere. They simply hold each other, reveling in the freedom of being able to do this again. Standing _side by side_ doesn't seem like a privilege… until you lose it. Suddenly, these brief moments couldn’t be any more precious.

When they finally pull away, pure happiness shines in Mia’s eyes. She looks younger than her job ever allows her to, more carefree — as if the world has been set to rights again.

“I promise I won’t let Fat Louie sleep on the stairs anymore,” she says.

“I promise I’ll take a flashlight next time,” Nicholas replies.

 _Somewhere,_ smiles are exchanged between two people, hidden promises pressed into all the words they do not say. They’ve got one challenge behind them. Suddenly, facing the future together seems a whole lot less daunting… as long as they can do it standing on their own feet.


End file.
